


Set

by MasterFinland



Series: Victoria, Victoria [1]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alpha America (Hetalia), Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe, Angst, Arranged Marriage, Emotional Abuse, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/M, Female England, I LOVE HER SO MUCH, Mentions of Mating Cycles/In Heat, Multi, Omega England (Hetalia), Omegaverse, Pre-Relationship, baby hong kong, everybody else thinks its insanely wrong, i'm sorry that these are already tags and that i'm using them, its from englands parents, mentioned canada - Freeform, mentioned past England/China, minor anti-chinese slurs, other characters and further plot will appear later in the series, victorian au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-17
Updated: 2020-09-17
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:14:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26506528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MasterFinland/pseuds/MasterFinland
Summary: Alfred really doesn't want to get married.
Relationships: America & England (Hetalia), America/England (Hetalia), America/Female England (Hetalia), England & Hong Kong (Hetalia)
Series: Victoria, Victoria [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1927105
Comments: 9
Kudos: 32





	Set

**Author's Note:**

> new series!

Alfred doesn’t want to get married. 

He dreads the thought, really, but at nineteen, he doesn’t have much choice in the matter if he wants to be able to legally inherit his father’s company when he retires in a few years. His parents have allowed him his freedom for too long, because they love him and don’t want to force him into things he isn’t ready for, but the townspeople have begun to whisper. His elder brother was already married and in charge of their grandfather’s company, by his age, having taken over for their uncle after his untimely death. Alfred is only a year younger than him, but Matthew was married by the time he was sixteen, and already had a pup by his next birthday.

His parents ignore the chatter and continue on as if nothing is happening, as if Alfred isn’t a late bloomer and disappointment to them both, but Alfred can’t just do that, can’t just ignore what he’s putting them through, and he knows, despite how his father tries to hide it, that his behavior - or lack thereof, he supposes - is endangering the business. They’re losing too much money, what with word getting around as quickly as it does, and the risk of going under becomes more threatening the longer he waits to do anything.

He doesn’t want to be tied down, but he knows, for the sake of his family and his reputation, that he needs to find a mate, and soon, so he sucks it up, and agrees to marry some random English girl his parents find for him after he catches sight of the store records. 

He isn’t told much about her, because his parents don’t know a whole lot either, but he is given basics: she is blonde, of noble blood, and a few years older than him. He learns that she lives in the countryside with her father and step-mother, the Viscount and Viscountess Kirkland. Most importantly, though, she is an omega. She is well above their socioeconomic status, and Alfred is told, shortly before they leave for the Kirkland estate, that she has a pup from a previous marriage. Alfred understands, after that, exactly how he is able to marry her.

His parents don’t know of her likes and dislikes, and despite their letters asking for information about her, they receive nothing. They want to make Alfred’s bride comfortable, here in this new place, but there isn’t much they can do if her parents aren’t willing to reveal anything. 

Alfred, privately, has the sickening feeling that it isn’t that they don’t  _ want _ to tell them, but that they  _ can’t _ , because they simply don’t know the answers either. The thought is nauseating, and he refuses to entertain it any longer than he has to. He tucks it away, and manages to ignore it, even as the servants spend the better part of a month redoing his quarters to accommodate an omega and pup.

It’s hard, Alfred knows, to plan for someone they know nothing about. A wedding is set for spring, mere weeks away, by the time his bedroom has been finished. His rutting room is piled high with pillows and blankets for what will, hopefully, be an omega ready to nest. The thought makes Alfred shudder unpleasantly; he keeps the door shut, and refuses to think about it.

Negotiations between their parents continue up until they have to leave. Alfred’s tailored wedding suit is packed safer than any other item in their suitcases, his bags sitting at his feet instead of in the storage compartment with the others. 

Everything is changing all at once, he notes as the carriage takes off, his home getting smaller and smaller until he can’t see it anymore, and there’s a knot resting heavy in his belly. 

He really doesn’t want to get married.

* * *

“- and as we mentioned prior,” Viscount Kirkland grunts, trailing off, and Alfred tunes back into the conversation. The portrait above the mantle is ugly, tinted reddish-brown in color, and it kind of hurts his eyes to look at. It looks, almost, like it was painted with puke. He tears his attention away from it and tries to focus back on the conversation at hand, but it’s mostly boring, logistical things, stuff Alfred doubts he could focus on if he tried, and his dad seems to have this aspect covered, so Alfred lets his mind wander a little longer. 

Alfred doesn’t want to be here. His eyes trail to the curtains, burgundy and velvet.

He doesn’t like tea, but there’s a steaming cup of it on the table meant for him, and he really shouldn’t be rude to his future in-laws, especially not with their status, so he picks up the fine porcelain and takes a hesitant sip. He resists the urge to wrinkle his nose, and swallows before sitting the glass back on its plate. 

Ah, right. The Viscount is speaking. Alfred gives himself a mental shake, and blinks metaphorical cobwebs from the corners of his eyes. The room is dark, and it makes him tired.

“She  _ has  _ been married before. We wish we could say that the marriage was never consummated, but they were together for nearly four years, and they were, unfortunately, able to conceive a…” he makes a rather nasty face before continuing, clearly trying to find a semi-polite way to word his explanation. Alfred doesn’t think he’s doing a very good job, but he keeps that thought to himself. “A _ child _ not long before the divorce. As we stated in our letters, we understand if this changes your mind-”

“It doesn’t,” his father interrupts, overly-conscious of the way the young woman is just outside the large set of double doors leading into the parlor, and can likely hear everything they’re saying. Alfred turns to look at him, nibbling on a cookie. He ignores the suffering look his mother gives him, because this is his third. He reasons with himself that if he’s not going to drink the tea, then he should at least eat some of the food, even if it is a little bland in flavor.

“You’re certain, Jones? She will not leave without the child, so it will have to live with the two of you and your son.” He gives Alfred a pitying look, and Alfred bristles. The Viscount picks up his own saucer, and leans back against the sofa with crossed legs.

“We’re well aware.” His mother smiles warmly and squeezes Alfred’s hand. He realizes, belatedly, that he’s finished his snack just a little too quickly, and he gives her a sheepish look. There is an unseen hatred in the square of her shoulders, in the tightness of her jaw, directed at the Viscount and his wife, and Alfred gets it wholeheartedly, he does. He didn’t see all of the letters, but those he did, he didn’t particularly like. He straightens back up in his seat with a sharp nod, and his gelled bangs shake loose somewhat. Hair flops into his face, and he does his best to ignore it, but it’s clear that his father wants desperately to fix it, which makes him more conscious of the way it tickles his forehead. He huffs air upward but it does nothing, and his mother smiles at him fondly, easily brushing his hair back into place.

“We would like to meet her now, if that is agreeable to the both of you.” 

Kirkland blinks, very clearly baffled by the easy-going, accepting behavior of his parents. Alfred wants to hit him, suddenly, and clenches his fist into the fabric of his trouser leg, thankfully hidden behind his mother’s blue-tinted skirts. His nails dig into his palm. 

He dreads the possibility of spending the next week with them, here in their home, somehow more than he dreads getting married. 

“Oh. Of course.” The Viscount waves absently to his wife, who rises obediently from her position, lips pursed in distaste. He can’t remember her name, and he doesn’t really care to; the Kirklands are worse in person. 

She crosses the massive room to let Alfred’s new mate in from the hall, and the doors creak with heavy exhaustion. The air feels thick, and Alfred swallows the lump lodged in his throat. 

Alfred can see the edge of her dress from the doorway, and watches, transfixed on the pattern of it as it flutters outward when she stands. 

The young lady that steps in behind her mother is much smaller than Alfred had expected. She’s short and curled in on herself politely, which, ultimately, makes her appear even tinier. He figures, what with the overbearing scent of multiple alphas absolutely shrouding the place, that she tries very hard not to be seen. She’s crouched ever-so-slightly to hold the hand of the little one at her side, and all of his fat fingers encircle three of her own with visible effort. He toddles unsteadily in his shoes. 

It’s awkward, but Alice manages curtsy as she comes upon them, and, after untangling those tiny fingers from her own, gently pushes the child’s head down to simulate a bow. He moves too easily, and the hairs on the back of Alfred’s neck stand up.

His mother stands to give her a curtsy in return, and his father gives her a gentle nod from his seat, unable to get up and down as easily as he used to. Alfred rises to bow and takes her hand, pressing a polite kiss to her knuckles before taking his seat again. He almost forgets to fix his inner coat before he sits. 

He grins at her, and she flushes quite brilliantly before quickly looking away. 

_ Huh. _

“Hello, dear,” his mom smiles, and Alfred turns to look at her as she speaks. “You must be Alice.”

“Yes, ma’am.” 

“And who is this cute little darling?” She hums faintly and wiggles her fingers at the baby, giving him a bright look, but he just stares at her so, so blankly, almost like he can’t see her at all. Something about the behavior rubs Alfred the wrong way, and though he doesn't have any experience with kids and how they’re supposed to act, he knows, instinctively, that this just isn’t right. 

“Ji-“ Alice flinches visibly at the rather vicious glare thrown in her direction, clamping her mouth shut and pushing the baby behind her skirts. He allows the movements limply, like a rag doll, and Alfred frowns. He sees his mother grip tightly to her own skirts, twisting the lace up in her gloved fingers. Her breathing picks up when Alice’s scent flares with panic for a brief moment before disappearing altogether.

“His name is Leon,” the Viscountess snips, scowling at her daughter and drawing the attention back to her and her husband. Alfred is nearly shaking with anger, and it’s taking all he has to keep his own scent in check. His father pinches his elbow, hard and with a hit of nails, and Alfred nealy bites through his tongue. He forces himself to smile, eyes trained on a spot above Kirkland’s head. One of the frames on the far wall is slightly askew, so he focuses on that instead of his rising frustration.

“Sit down, Alice, standing there like a fool is horribly rude.”

Alice sits on the edge of the couch even though there’s plenty of room for her beside her parents, once again silent, and pulls her son into her lap. She settles him carefully, brushing his hair from his face with trembling fingers, lingering briefly on his forehead. Her eyes are trained intently on the floor near Alfred’s feet, and the baby blinks up at her for a moment before his gaze starts to wander aimlessly around the room. He looks lost, like he’s never been in this room before. 

Alfred wonders, brows furrowed, if he’s ever been treated kindly by anyone other than his mother. He tries not to think too hard about it, and narrows his eyes to try and decipher what, exactly, that frame is supposed to be holding. The painting is green, and it clashes with the curtains.

“Our daughter’s first husband was an Oriental,” the Viscountess explains, sneering at her step-daughter. Alice hunches over the baby in her lap protectively, barely noticeable, and Alfred feels both of his parents tense up beside him. His father’s grip on his arm tightens, like he expects Alfred to lose himself to animalistic instinct. Alfred stays perfectly still in his seat, eyes locked on the baby before he’s even aware of it.

“He was high-up in the emperor’s administration and offered us a dowry we couldn’t refuse. We realize that the child is… strange,” the Viscount looks over at his daughter with disdain, and Alice flinches, hardly even a tick of her face, but stays quiet. She doesn’t look up, and continues brushing her son’s bangs out of his face, dancing her fingertips over his cheek. The little one leans into the touch.

“And, again, we understand if this has caused you to change your mind-“

“Why would this make us change our minds?” His father smiles, grip on his elbow painfully tight in barely concealed outrage. Alfred bites his lip hard enough to hurt, and his mother loosely takes hold of his wrist behind her skirts. He wonders if his scent is coming through. “He is only a child. Fatherhood will do our Alfred good.”

“Are-“

“I’m certain, Sir. How long will she need to pack?” 

* * *

Dinner that night is an awkward affair, to say the least. 

Her parents estimate that Alice will need about a week to get her things together, and it’s not worth the trip to go back to their home just to immediately turn back around, so Alfred’s father, with thinly-concealed disdain, takes the gracious offer of remaining at the Kirkland manor for the time being. 

Alfred really, really doesn’t want to be staying here, especially not with these people, in their beds, surrounded by their scents, but something tells him that he would feel much worse if he left, so he keeps his mouth shut.

He eats his food like he normally would, asking for seconds long before anyone else finishes, like a good and proper alpha, something he can tell his parents are grateful for, because it makes the Viscount perk up with interest. He tries to make the most polite small talk that he can, but it’s difficult to stay on topic when the conversation keeps drifting to English politics, and Alfred’s father has to take over for him to keep him from putting his foot in his mouth. 

It would be embarrassing to anyone else, he’s fairly certain, but Alfred doesn’t mind. He’s just glad he doesn’t have to think about anything too serious tonight, at least for the most part.

Alice barely says a word the entire meal, silent except for when she’s addressing the baby, whose name Alfred has already forgotten. He sits limp in his mother’s lap, resting completely against her, tiny hands gripping weakly to her wrists. Alfred spares glances at them throughout the evening, and he doesn’t think he sees Alice actually eat anything at all, merely picking at the softer of the foods on her plate to try and feed the baby with, who doesn’t seem to be eating much of anything either. 

“Hey,” he whispers, voice low. “Alice.” His parents have taken hold of the conversation again, so Alfred deems it safe enough to talk with his future bride semi-privately. He has a feeling that her parents probably don’t want her speaking, so he tries to keep things quiet.

Alice jerks her head up, startled, and Alfred wonders, briefly, if all her meals are this lonely. Her palm is pressed to the baby’s forehead, his dark bangs pushed up and curled; the ends look almost damp from this angle. He makes a little chirping sound, raw and infantile, and Alfred frowns, his neck starting to itch. He clenches his fist against his thigh, thankful that the table is blocking him from the Kirklands. It definitely wouldn’t be appropriate for him to scratch at his scent gland here. 

His mother made him shower with special scent-blocking soaps before dinner, and Alfred is suddenly very thankful for that, too.

“Ah, yes?” Alice whispers back, glancing down at the baby and frowning deeply. She’s distracted, barely even there, and it makes Alfred’s gut tingle unpleasantly. He takes another bite of his food, but it tastes more like sand than anything else. He feels almost like he’s swallowing rocks.

“Is he, like, okay? He seems kinda... I dunno, out of it, I guess.”

“Leon? Oh, yes, yes, he’s fine. He’s had a fever since this morning,” she murmurs, shifting her position somewhat. Alfred blinks in surprise. 

The baby makes another rumbly sound and twists his body around, reaching for his mother. Alice maneuvers him effortlessly, allowing him to stand unsteady on her legs and bury his round face in her neck. Alfred sees his lips moving, wordless and incomprehensible. His gums begin to sting faintly, and he runs his tongue over his upper canines.

He stares, transfixed, as Alice coos quietly, worriedly, nuzzling her nose into the side of the baby’s face. She strokes his back, massages up and down in a gentle, rhythmic motion, until his little shoulders stop trembling. Alfred can hear him snuffling against her skin, heavy and wet and absolutely pitiful. His shoulders slump forward in sympathy, and he offers her the kindest look he can manage, chin tilted down in an unconscious display of submission.

“Oh,” he says, and the baby tilts his head just slightly to peek at him with teary, red-rimmed eyes. Snot is smeared across his round face. Alfred smiles at him warmly, and the baby shyly presses his face back into Alice’s shoulder, still peeking at him from the corner of dark, massive eyes. “I’m sorry. Is there-”

_ “Alice!” _

Alfred jumps, whipping around to face the Viscountess. She doesn’t spare him a glance, glaring at her daughter instead, who stares back at her with wild, panicked eyes, arms held protectively around her pup, who is silent and unmoving, young enough still that fear automatically reverts him to base instinct. The clatter of her spoon against the side of her plate is still ringing in his ears by the time eyes finally focus on her. He flares his nostrils at her show of aggression, and his father grips his bicep tightly.

“Mum, I-”

“What are you  _ doing? _ ” She snarls, pheromones wild and thick in the suddenly too-small dining room, and Alice’s stills completely in her chair. Alfred feels his breath begin to rattle in his chest the second he can no longer hear hers. A low rumble catches in his throat, and he aches to challenge the alpha command of the Viscountess so badly that he’s practically vibrating. His canines push completely through his gums, and he tastes blood. 

His mother’s grip joins his father’s, desperate because she knows that Alfred is far stronger than both of them combined.

“I was- I just, he-”

“Leave the room, Alice.” She sits back down, and then her scent is gone and Alfred can breathe properly again. He swallows twice, and still tastes copper. The Viscount shakes his head, glaring at his daughter with disapproval. “Do not come back down.” 

Alice is up and out of her seat in an instant, chair tipping back and smacking the tiles so loudly that the sound echoes in Alfred’s ears. The baby, wailing now that the oppressive pheromones have subsided and instinct has told him that it is safe enough to react, is held securely against her hip and chest. The doors hit the wall with enough force to leave a mark before Alfred can even properly open his mouth, teeth pressed so hard into his lower lip that it hurts to pull them away. He’s nearly poked holes through to his chin. 

“I’m so sorry about that,” Kirkland begins, offering his parents a guilty, apologetic smile. The Viscountess locks eyes with Alfred, almost daring him to do something, and Alfred bites fully through his labiomental groove without feeling it. He is seething with rage, his mother’s hand shaking violently around his wrist. Her touch is urgent, thumbnail pressed anxiously into the scent gland on the inside of his forearm.

“Alfred, please-” she whispers, voice cracking. She is a beta, his mother, but even dominant alphas, of which both Alfred and the Viscountess apparently are, can get to her. Alfred forces himself to look at her when her nail begins to dig into his skin. Her pupils are dilated and unfocused. He closes his eyes and inhales the now-clean air as deeply as he can, chest heaving with effort. His jaw aches and his gums burn as his canines recede back to their proper size, and he exhales a soft, pained noise, hardly loud enough for his mother to hear. 

There is a sharp, stinging pain below his lip, and Alfred winces as his mother brings a napkin to his face just before the blood and pus drip over his chin. She holds it in place, cooing the way she used to when Alfred was worked up as a child. It is private, and intimate, but luckily Alfred’s father has managed to keep the attention on himself. His warm, beta scent permeates the dining hall, distracting from Alfred’s fit.

“It…” his father swallows, and continues after straightening back up in his chair. Alfred blinks his eyes open to watch him as he speaks. His eyelids feel unbearably heavy. “It’s no problem, Kirkland. Let’s just continue with our meal.”

**Author's Note:**

> don't hesitate to ask any questions if anything doesn't make sense! I'll be adding more to the series soon!


End file.
